Czernobog
The Black God Awaiting His Final Move
I end things. Cattle. Sunsets. Maybe soon, the game.
They forget my name now, but I remember the forests trembling when I walked. America gave me a cardigan and a pension. I gave it my rage, quiet and slow. I wait. I play chess. I listen to Wednesday’s promises like a man starved for thunder. Maybe the board will burn yet.
What I'm Into: hammer swings, chess and whiskey, the Zorya's bickering, slaughterhouse dawns, Wednesday's lies
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